“We need to get the fuck out of here, man!” Scott yelled from somewhere behind me, punctuating his words with a shotgun blast then another.
I spun around, and he was almost swarmed. He staggered to the SUV and got in, slamming the door shut and popping up in the turret. He squeezed the gun between his body and the opening, then turned away from me and shot a pair.
I had to fall back, but they closed in on the other side. Now my way to the car was blocked. I fished the keys out and called out to Scott. He turned to see my wide eyes, and I threw the keys at him. He nearly dropped the gun as he made to catch them, but he managed to snag them in one hand. He stared at me, and I could not read his eyes. I wanted to tell him to take care and to watch out for Lisa and Katherine, but it seemed unnecessary.
I slammed the butt of my gun into the face of one of the zombies, and it fell away with a crunch. There should have been a spurt of blood. I was afraid that the only blood I would be seeing anytime soon would be my own.
The rifle was empty, and I didn’t have time to load, because they were everywhere. I spun away from the car and kicked one in the chest, then I swung the gun like a bat and laid another one out.
A small space opened, but I felt hands reach for me. The stench of the dead and rotting made me want to puke my guts out. I tried to breathe in the mass, but it was damn near impossible. I knew it was panic eating at me—an absolute dread sinking into my gut like a dark night. I had no escape. The SUV was ten feet away, but it might as well have been a mile away for all the good it did me.
I swung the gun hard into another zombie, and the stock came loose. Goddamn cheap Walmart rifle. More cold hands. Drawing my knife, I went at them with my own version of teeth. The blade was a crescent of death that I used to slice my way free. There were so many of them, but I might buy myself a few more seconds. The clothing might hold up against a small bite, but it wouldn’t if one set into me with intent.
Hands. Rotted breath. Moaning. Cries. What would it feel like when they tore me apart? I should have saved a bullet for my own head.
Then a space opened up, and one of the green-eyed bastards stood ahead of me. I dove for him, but something came down across my back like a lead bar. While I staggered under the blow, I still launched myself at the fucker one more time. I just needed to close in and sink my blade into his throat. Then another blow, this one to the base of my skull, and the lights went out like someone had covered the sun. My knees hit the ground and sent pain rocketing up my legs. I tried to get my hands out to stop my fall, which was the last thing I was aware of, except for one hazy thought. At least I wouldn’t feel pain when they tore me to pieces.
Part Three
Reality was the bitch I didn’t want to deal with. I came to it unwilling, tried to ignore it, but there was a ringing in my ears that wouldn’t let me be. Pressure on one side of my head made me feel like I had a cold and needed some medicine. I needed some Oxy while I was at it, because my whole body felt like a punching bag, or the remains of one tossed into the trash after a lifetime of faithful service.
The smell of dirt, mud, and old leaves filled me with a sense of peace. That came into sharp contrast as I tried to blink away flashes of light. It was like I had stared at the sun and paid for it with the aftereffects burned into my retinas.
I lifted my head, but the pain made me pay for that little effort. A pissed-off demon bashed around in my skull. It screamed over and over again for me to just give up and lie here for eternity.
Reaching up, I felt around the back of my head, which revealed a huge lump to my questing fingers. My shoulders hurt when I moved; they felt pinched and sore right in the middle of my back. Where had that blow come from?
My head was in a fog. The last thing I remembered was the battle at the barricade. My half-suicidal attempt to take out the enemy while my new friends got away.
Some of my vision returned after I blinked, but only on one side. My left eye continued to throb in time with my heartbeat. A blast of darkness that almost cleared soon fizzled out again. I shook my head, but that only made my brain rattle around and hurt even worse.
I had fights that didn’t hurt this badly.
I rolled to my side and then onto my stomach, managing to get one arm under my body and push myself off the ground. My hand crunched against leaves and wet foliage of some sort. When I gripped at pressed grass, I felt something slither across my fingers.
After I rubbed my eyes, my vision started to come back.
It was cold, wet, must have been close to morning. I got a glimpse of my hand and grabbed a piece of earth to reassure myself it was still there. Then I looked up at a scene of horror.
I would like to say it was some sort of hallucination brought on by the blow to the back of my head. I would like to say it wasn’t reality, but a bad dream. But the place in which I woke was all too real.
I was in a large cage complete with rusted metal bars. It looked like someone had taken over a farm of some sort and put people in the cages instead of animals. There were other large jails, some just chicken coops, but those had kids in them. I got a glimpse of grungy faces cowering together. They shifted around when they met my eye with a nervousness I did not find reassuring.
Another giant cage to the right was filled with folks—men and women in various states of dress. Some looked familiar, but I couldn’t be sure if they had been at the camp with me. I sat up and leaned my head forward so I could rest it against my fist, arm crooked and set against my knee. The effort of getting up had all but exhausted me.
I looked up again, and this time I saw the sky. It was red like blood, and I had to wonder if there was something wrong with my sight. The clouds rolled by, but had a pink tinge that made me think of the end of the world. They were late to the party, since they missed the end by about six months.
I had a feeling this was the end for me, because I was in a cage, and it was rare to keep things locked up like this. Either I was a prisoner or I was food. Couldn’t be much else. I struggled to a sitting position and heard a cry behind me.
Turning, I saw a girl lying on her side, sobbing. Her body jerked in big shaking movements that made her look like she was having a seizure. She wore a jumpsuit like I had seen at Lisa’s camp. It was gray, and she had her sleeves done all the way up. Near her was a man who wasn’t moving. I could only see the back of his head, which was caked with blood that matted his black curls. That had to be Scott.
It was warm, must have been morning, but I felt a chill deep in my bones. I wondered how long I had been on the ground. Cries from all around came in at an alarming rate, as my head struggled to equalize the pressure on either side. I crawled slowly, like an animal in pain. My back ached, my head hurt, and my shoulders felt like they were carrying an extra passenger between them.
I looked all around me to find the place was a nightmare. A home to misery.
Dirty faces pressed to metal bars. Like refugees on TV, the ads one saw to make one want to give money. I would give whoever these bastards were a piece of hell if I managed to get out.
So many people, and all of them in misery. I heard screaming in the distance, but it was too far away to pick out a location. There were shamblers walking around, zombies in various states of decay that stopped to look at the men, women, and children in cages. Some stopped as if considering them, but others just moved on. How the hell had we ended up here?
I went to Scott. He was covered in filth. Glancing down at my own shirt, the flannel one I had worn for months, I found it was in equally deplorable shape. I felt his neck and found a pulse. Breathing a sigh of relief, I turned his head. His face was bruised, and when I checked the back of his head, the lump there had dried blood on it. I hoped that neither one of us had a concussion.